Page 12 of Dying to Meet You

And just like that, the progress I’d made is broken, shattered like a cracked pane of glass in a windstorm. Her words cut through me.

“A person with your past is not capable of healthy relationships. I’m well aware of what happened at Camp Carroll. I’ve written journal articles about it.” Is she oblivious to my reaction to her threats? Now she’s mentioning work she’s done like I give a flying fuck? “The best thing you could do for yourself is seek therapy and stop this charade that you're qualified to help anyone.”

My entire being is vibrating with anger.

Acceptance of our relationship didn’t automatically happen within our own families. My grandparents came around because they love the kids and I; Matt’s family pretends it’s normal; Blaine’s parents would love for him to run away with Matt and Waverly while the rest of us disappear. Keir, Caleb, and Hutton were robbed of family and resources. Did that alone influence their decisions?

“She’ll be back on Thursday. Not because I have any faith in your abilities after this exchange, but because I won’t risk the wellbeing of all our kids. It would be devastating to us if you followed through on your threat. Don’t feel proud of yourself, though. You’ve just made an enemy of me; when all you had to do was be a professional.”

I hold it together while getting frozen yogurt. I manage to drive home, making idle chit-chat that Zin doesn’t respond to. It’s not until I’m locked in my ensuite bathroom that I breakdown, gulping down sobs as every insecurity I’ve ever had rears up to attack me: useless, unloved, unwanted, thrown away, unworthy, loose, unethical, lied to, used…an abomination.

Chapter Five

Hand to my heart

Caleb

“

...in God’s name I pray. Amen.” The Church of the Good News has emptied out. Reclining back in the pew, I hear a vacuum cleaner somewhere in the building. Lately, I struggle making it to a service. Squeezing the bridge of my nose, I close my eyes, searching for an answer. God’s voice is harder to hear. I can handle being shunned by my FLDS family, and I can live with running away from the prophecy. I can’t lose God’s guidance, though.

“Caleb? I didn’t realize anyone was still here.” Standing in the open doorway to the sanctuary, the new church secretary, Becca, wrings her hands.

“Sorry, I’m heading out.” Becca walks beside me to the main doors. “Do you lock up by yourself? Is that safe?” If I’ve learned anything from Hutton, it’s to assess all situations for risks when it comes to women or children.

She chews on her lower lip while pulling the pink cardigan she’s wearing tighter around her. “Um, I, I…” Blushing, she focuses on her feet.

“I only mean…” Good job, I’ve succeeded in making her feel bad. “With the break-ins around here recently…”

She’s still studying the floor while I open the door, only to hear sirens in the distance. Illustrating my concerns perfectly. “Tell ya what, I can stay until you're ready to go.” I’d rather not since I promised the boys we’d read fromThe Adventures of Robin Hood. Last night, they insisted ninjas were infiltrating the merry men. I’m looking forward to another rowdy time settling them in for bed.

Becca looks up, her face still reddened. “You’d do that?”

While she cleans the glass leading into the kitchen area, I wind up the vacuum cord. Other than occasionally greeting other church members, I’ve never had the opportunity to become familiar with them. Our family is busy. Between the rescue animals, the kids, and helping at the vet clinic as a vet tech, it gets hectic. To break the awkward silence, I tell her about our rescue horse that kneels to eat, showing her a couple pictures on my phone. It seemed like a good topic, since the horseshoe keychain hanging off her purse says, “Life is Better with Horses.”

“I’ve never seen a horse do that,” she replies, “and I grew up on a farm with rescue horses. Is that your son in the picture?” Standing a few feet from our Palomino mare, Huggie, is Weston dressed like a cowboy. That was the phase he went through last spring.

“Yes. That’s one of them. Our six-year-old, Weston.” I smile to myself, thinking about how much he cares about not just Huggie, but all the animals we’re helping. “He’d camp out in the pen with the horses if we let him.”

She’s surprised to hear we have six children as we continue to talk. I keep explanations about our family to myself. Not because I’m embarrassed but because I don’t know how to explain it to a new friend. I’m married, but I’m not. I’m polygamous but not exactly. I’m a dad, but not biologically. Sometimes, it’s easier to avoid specifics.

“I don’t think I’ve met your wife. Does she come to church with you?” Thankfully, I have my back to Becca, pulling a garbage bag from one of the trash bins near the kitchen, because I freeze. She hasn’t noticed her because Eden has never been here.

I try to sound unbothered. “You wouldn’t have seen her. She doesn’t attend services here.” Does that make it sound like she goes somewhere else? Because that’s a lie. I’m not trying to bend or break the truth. “I should make myself clear…She has different beliefs than I do.”

We both carry full garbage bags from the building to the dumpster near the backside. Becca softly says, “That must be difficult.” Her hand lightly rests on my arm as she goes on to ask, “Do your kids come to church?”

“No. Not because my wife doesn’t want that. I…” Wiping a hand over my mouth, I stare at the highway in the distance with the sun setting. “I have a past problem? I guess it could be called a problem with the religion I grew up in. I want my children exposed to as many ways of thinking as possible so they can decide their own path.”

Becca cocks her head before saying, “Do you read scripture? I would suggest looking at the Gospel of Matthew. The Lord warns of false messiahs and prophets sent to deceive. As a parent you might want to arm them with the word of the Holy Spirit; so they’re not led astray.”

She means well. Changing the subject back to the rescue animals, I’m not forced to reveal a part of my reluctance to bring the children here is convincing the rest of our family it’s a good idea. The only person who could back me up is Blaine who was raised as a Catholic, but his experiences with “religious” people have not always been positive because he’s bisexual.

As she climbs into her gray hatchback, she smiles at me warmly. “Thank you for all your help. I don’t know many people here yet, so it was nice to talk with you. There is an adult ministry group meeting on Sunday after service. You should join us. It’s a small group of six people, but I think that’ll allow us to grow closer with God that way.”

I don’t commit to attending. My connection with God has never felt dependent on other people; not my uncle, the leader of our FLDS Holy Brotherhood sect; not my father; not the minister of this church. It’s felt like a spark in my soul that lately, has been flickering.

Waving to her as she drives off, I stop dead in my tracks. I prayed to the Lord for a sign, asking Him to make my way known to me. I love the family I now belong to; Eden and the kids are my heart. God’s voice drifting off has me questioning if I’m making the wrong choices, so I asked him to direct me. Becca mentioning false prophets takes on a whole new meaning. Is God warning me of something?

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